


if i dismember your heart will i find your love?

by onebreathyboi



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gay dads, Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love at First Sight, Murder, Name-Calling, Other, THEY DONT ACTUALLY, calling cops pigs, mamas, please i wrote this for a project its so good, tumblr inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28571835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebreathyboi/pseuds/onebreathyboi
Summary: Victoria is just looking for love, Jupiter seems to provide. They click instantly, bonding over hypothetical murder scenes. Are they really though?This is based off that tumblr prompt where a serial killer and a crime writer meet up.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	if i dismember your heart will i find your love?

**Author's Note:**

> this gets reaaaaaaally graphic.
> 
> its also 26 pages

A few more tippy taps of my thumbs on the screen and-- done! My phone beeps as my account is made complete, the screen displaying confetti as it officially passes through the server system. The Tinder profile is displayed in front of me, my name and age easy to see at the top with my description below. A select few photos of me reading or swimming, the occasional picture of my cat Goliath sprinkled in. I hope it catches the attention of somebody, anybody to kill the bottomless pit of loneliness inside me. 

**Victoria, 24. 0 miles away.**  
_If you can’t handle the gruesome details  
of purely hypothetical murders then  
move along  
(if you’re into serial killers and cats  
then I’m your gal)_

Okay, that seems good enough for the public. Goliath mews at my side, his fluffy black paws stretching into my lap. I give his head a couple pats and turn my attention back to the keyboard in front of me. My protagonist Joylene is mid-swing of her knife into the pedestrian, her killer instincts in play as she mains the bystander. Well, will maim the bystander. Or maybe she won’t maim the stranger, instead take him back to her home to commit a complicated murder. 

_Cold rain pelts her skin, drops of water like God's tears, as if he’s begging her to stop. The pleas of God are heard but ignored, instead the sin of killing overriding her senses. Something stirs deep in her gut as she gazes as the unconscious body on the alley floor. He’s about 35 with cropped black hair and clothes that are too tight. His larger than average stomach rises and falls slowly, the constant breathing the only sign of life from the man. The rain picks up, the wind whipping her hair into her cold face. Joylene raises the knife in her hand and lifts her arms, taking a hefty swing._

No no, that way of killing is too basic. I rapidly tap the delete button and stare at my words, the blinking bar taunting me.

_The rain picks up, the wind whipping her hair into her cold face. Joylene stares at the body on the ground, ideas flooding into her head. Would he ignite well if he was force fed alcohol until his blood was flammable? How would his bones smell when they dissolved? She only has moments to decide the innocent's fate._

Wait, would lighting someone on fire even work, even if their blood is saturated with alcohol? Where is Joylene going to get the dissolvent without leaving a trail? I highlight the paragraph and cringe as I delete it, the seemingly little amount of work being erased. My fingers drum on the plastic folding table desk, the hollow noise representing my empty brain. Goliath stirs in my lap and yawns, hot cat breath hitting my face like a fist. 

“Oh Christ bud, your cat food does not smell like that. What did you eat?” My words go in one pointed ear and out the other, his feline brain not understanding English. Even if he could understand it’s not like he would reply. Focus Vicky, the deadline is approaching and Goliath needs food. 

_The rain picks up, the wind whipping her hair into her cold face. Joylenes motionless target lay in the rain water, slow breaths indicating his heartbeat. The knife is gleaming and weightless in her hand, the ritualistic raise of her arms a well practiced motion. Her body moves like a freshly oiled machine, all the cogs in her form working in unison. The strength in her arms is assisted by gravity, drawing the weapon to the chest of the man. One deep breath eihfjsdafhkjdh_

I slam my hands on the old keyboard, rattling the desk and startling Goliath. This story doesn’t sound right at all. Joylene isn’t just some run of the mill alleyway killer, she’s the Washington Witch, she’s the killer of men, the one to strike fear into their hearts. She doesn’t just stab and go, she takes her time to deconstruct these men in revenge for the millennia of female persecution. 

I pick up my black iPhone 8, and open Tinder. The first man is holding a fish like a prize, the biography has something vaguely Trump related and I swipe left. The next man is something similar, as is the next. Jacob, Gabe, Chad, John, Kaden, the names of sheet-white average intelligence men endless as I continue swiping. 

As I’m seconds away from giving up for the night, a man in all black clothing appears. Next to him is a custom bong with a fully packed bowl. 

**Jupiter, 25. 10 miles away.**  
_Yes my name is Jupiter  
I like horror and reading  
I’m not that scary, promise_

The photo after the bong is him next to a small girl, dressed as Morticia Addams. He’s dressed as Gomez, or his attempt at Gomez. His makeup is sloppy but there’s a slight smile on his face as the girl clings to his leg. Is that his sister? His daughter? He seems too young to have a daughter that age. I swipe right and receive an immediate notification from Tinder, displaying our profile pictures side by side and the caption ‘Match!’

Not long after, my inbox lights up and his name appears at the top. I open it, reading the pick up line.

_Jupiter  
Is your name pennywise cuz  
I want you to swallow my kids_

Oh wow. He’s bold. I turn my swivel chair away from the computer screen and hear the plastic scream in protest. Despite my best efforts a smile breaks out on my face. I take a minute to think of the response. 

_Victoria  
Call me a clown if it means  
I can go on a date w you_

_Jupiter  
Done deal partner  
tomorrow , 8pm, the  
Ihop off of central?_

_Victoria  
You got it_

The phone makes a soft noise as I drop it in my lap on top of Goliath. He jumps but settles back into the warm enclosure of my legs. I rest my head into my sweaty palms and rub my eyes. Really Victoria? You’re a published author and ‘You got it’ is all you can muster? It’s no wonder your mom disowned you. I shake my head to knock the thoughts out, receiving a strange look from Goliath. I swear that cat can understand human body language.

The clock on my oven reads 21:37, military time courtesy of the ancient oven in my old apartment. Less than 24 hours to the date with this mysterious man and the week old grease is stuck in my hair. My skin is gritty and radiates a musk that is indescribable. There’s cold takeout on my floor and a soggy stain from the soy sauce that seeped through the box on the carpet. I stand from my rickety chair and Goliath drops with ease, jumping through the trash on my floor as if he was born in it. The hallway is a clear zone and it’s my mission to arrive there safely.

Stepping carefully through the toxic waste creating new life on my floor, I tread softly towards the hall where the bathroom lies. Goliath follows effortlessly behind me, soft paws tapping lightly as he walks. After the obstacle course of depression, we arrive at the hall arch. The dingy white door of the bathroom is on my left, crusty gold handle screeching as the knob turns. 

I flick on the light and the buzz of the singular working bulb fills the room, illuminating the seafoam green bathroom tiles with a depressing light. The mirror is warped and I don’t bother looking, the distorted image that of a clown house and not an apartment. The shower whistles when the water is above lukewarm, the pipes echoing throughout the apartment. My body aches from the poor posture as I shed my stained pajamas.

The water is a nice room temperature and I pull back the itchy orange shower curtain and step in, the spray of the water fluctuating between bruising bullets and a soft sprinkle as other tenants flush toilets or turn on sinks. 

The water beats on my scalp, the liquid pooling in the tub a beige colour. My feet are always submerged in an inch of water as the drain struggles to keep up with the work. The shampoo is nearly full on the lip of the tub, rarely used and often forgotten. The muscles of my back cry in protest as I reach for the soap, crying harder as I squeeze a large amount onto my head and lift my arms to scrub. 

The foam is khaki brown and littered with remnants of the ecosystem living on my scalp. Rinsing the soap is like being embraced between gods breasts, the dirty water running down my body. There are streaks of water droplets and their paths as they cut through the grime on my skin. I slap some old conditioner on my head and grab my bath puff, drowning it in body soap and scrubbing my skin raw as the conditioner sets in my hair. 

Small black flakes of skin sit in the water at my feet, shaming me as they are sucked down the drain. I step under the punch of the shower spray and wash the soap off before turning the handle to stop the water. A suction noise erupts in the bathroom as the last of my top layer of skin is pulled into the drain. 

I grab the rough sour yellow towels and pat my body dry feeling 10 pounds lighter and looking 15 years younger. I wrap one towel around my waist and the other in my hair, leaving my chest exposed. The perks of living alone. Well, living with a cat who doesn’t have the mental prowess to judge. Goosebumps line my body when I open the bathroom door to shamble into my room. It’s only a 2 step walk but the hallway is morgue cold and the warming layer of skin I usually possess is sitting in the Oregon drainage pipes. 

The door for the bedroom is off of its hinges and is propped on the adjacent wall. The floor of my room is miraculously visible and can be walked through with ease. Goliath waits on my bed, sinking into the middle of the air mattress. I grab a fresh set of pajamas from my top drawer and throw them on, dropping my towels in the process. The benefit of not changing your clothes for days is the lightened laundry schedule. 

Goliath yowls but is ignored as I swiftly pick up the musty towels and hang them back on the rack in the bathroom. I brush my teeth with my old blue toothbrush and rinse my mouth, the toothpaste burning my tongue from where I scrubbed. Picking up my phone from the bathroom sink I return to my air mattress, ready to descend into the mediocre embrace of pressurized air. 

I plop down on the bed, tossing Goliath into the air with my force. He hits the bed and plays it off, instead settling back down into his spot. My phone is plugged in next to me and I lay down to join him, gracelessly dropping into an exhausted sleep.

The sounds of yelling in the apartment below wake me up, sunlight streaming through the broken blinds. Goliath is sleeping on my chest, crushing me under his rather impressive weight. It smells like weed, a common place in the blue state of Oregon. My phone reads 11 in the morning, the piece of technology unaware that I slept nearly 13 hours. The joints of my bones creak and crack as I stretch, the stasis of 13 hours taking its toll on my skeleton. There’s an awful taste in my mouth that I stand to rectify, heading towards the bathroom after my entire body has been popped.

The hours pass quickly after that as I sit on my computer and stare at the pages in front of me. The story of Joylene taunts me, its complicity laughing in the face of my uninspired brain. My phone buzzes and I see Jupiter's name on the screen, message preview blocked by Tinder. I open it and read.

_Jupiter  
This is your last chance to  
back out _

_Back out? Why would I back out?_

_Victoria  
All clear on this end captain  
plan is a go_

As soon as the words are sent I question my entire career in literature. What kind of up and coming author says ‘captain plan is a go’? I glance at the time and it’s 6 in the afternoon. Central is 15 miles away and I need at least 30 minutes to make myself presentable, plus I need to arrive early. Oh my god I’m almost out of time. 

I jump from my chair and hop over the trays like it’s parkour. Reaching my room, I dig through the drawers to find an acceptable outfit. Can’t be too fancy or too casual and definitely not weird. I settle on some sweats and a tank with no bra, the casual yet effortless look perfect for iHop. My bag of makeup is on my desk along with the only functioning mirror in the house. Once again I skip and jump my way over, sitting in the chair to put on my second face. 

I layer the eyeshadow with dark blues and purples, packing black pigment into the crease of my lid. Dabbing some shadow under my eyes to bolden them, I pick up my eyeliner and line it on my eye, sharpening the wings down to create a rounder eye and the appearance of wide eyed happiness. My mascara is slightly dried but usable so I brush it onto my lashes and wait for it to dry. 

Once my eyes are no longer sticky I open them and put on one tight chain around my throat and a looser one that droops to my chest. The brush tears through my hair as I rake it, knots in the strands giving me hell. 

Eventually my hair is tamed and my makeup is done and it’s time to leave. I toss on the chunky black tennis shoes by my door, the socks stuffed into the hole of the shoe now on my feet. With one last look in the mirror across the room I sling on my backpack purse and head out the door, forcing it open and slamming it closed behind me before locking it. I hear Goliath scratching at the door but pay him no mind. My feet bang on the old metal stairs as I scuttle down the bottom floor.

The bus stop is right outside the apartment building and I wait for it next to the town crackhead. I dig through my purse and pull out the tangled headphones, quickly unwinding them and plugging them in. The right ear is popping in and out as my music plays and I fiddle with the base of the wire until the bus shows up. 

The swipe of my bus card garners a nod from the driver and I settle into a seat near the front, protecting my bag in my lap and turning the music up. The static crackles to the beat of the music and it isn’t unbearable but I make a note to buy new ones. The bus starts with the telltale ‘ssqushhhh’ of the breaks and we’re off, the rock of the road a familiar feeling. 

The 4 stops before Central pass in no time, dropping me off only a block away from the fated iHop. It’s a cool 65 degrees and the wind chill brings the temperature down, my skin breaking out in goosebumps and my nipples embarrassingly hardening. This is what I get for not wearing a bra. I trudge to the iHop and pull open the door, the warm air blasting me in the face. The entrance area always smells like a public library with no books in sight.

I look through the entry way window and see no sign of my mystery man. Good, I got here first. The worker asks for how many and I put up two fingers, too nervous to talk. She leads me to the table and puts a menu in front of me and sets one down on the other side before walking away. It’s 7:45 and I don’t bother browsing the menu, my meal already having been decided. 

The air is warm and the blood orange colour of the walls are assaulting, the scent of food wafting through the restaurant. The bell on the door rings, his lean form waving sheepishly when he spots me. I awkwardly wave back and he walks towards me, his height becoming apparent as he draws closer. His posture is relaxed and his hands are stuffed into the pockets of his warm-black hoodie, his chain jingling around his throat with each step.

There’s another chain attached to his belt loops, also making noise with each footfall. He’s so loud, he’d be a horrible serial killer. He drops into the seat across from me and looks at me, taking his hands of his pockets and picking up the menu. I can tell he’s pretending to read it.

“So, I’m Jupiter,” His voice is scratchy and moderately deep, soft and shy. I didn’t peg him for the shy type. 

“I’m Victoria, as you know,” Wow. This is awkward.  
“Who’s your favourite serial killer?” His gaze keeps to the menu and I almost think he didn’t ask it. I take a moment to ponder.

“Probably John Wayne Gacy-” I open my mouth to keep explaining but he cuts me off.

“Why?” He sets his menu down and looks me straight in the eyes, a sparkle in the hazel gaze. His body leans forward slightly as he expects an answer. 

“I guess I really like the whole clown thing he’s got, I have a collection of porcelain clowns at my apartment,” I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth. Who wants to hear about some stranger's clown collection?

To my surprise he smiles slightly and nods like he approves of my odd taste in collectables.

“If you were to kill someone, how would you do it?” My mouth moves before I can stop it, spitting the sentence out. I expect him to look horrified, but he just sits back and relaxes his posture, crossing his arms and thinking.

“Hmmm- probably a shot of air between the toes, looks like a heart attack. Though it depends on what you’re hoping to achieve. Why are you killing them?” He answers seriously, looking me in the eyes as he does so. My heart skips a beat, a blush rushing to my face. I start considering what our kids would look like.

“They’re being killed for revenge,” I respond, using Joylene as my killer. He crosses his arms and thinks again.

“Like revenge as in personal revenge or general revenge? Do they want torture?” His tone is completely serious, like he’s genuinely giving his answers. I think about what kind of ring he’d like and who’d be at our wedding.

“Torture. They want to make them feel every ounce of pain they’ve felt,” My voice is breathy, unbelieving of the man in front of me. My heart beats harder as his jaw clenches in concentration, his rings hand flexing as he grips his arm. My god, I’m in love.

“Well if you want the body to be pretty, the best form of torture for that is slowly heating up the core temperature until their organs are cooked. If you want pure mayhem and don’t care about presentation, which would be sloppy, break all the essential joints first. Ankles, wrists, knees, elbows, stuff like that. Break their ribs with a hammer from the outside and push their hips out of socket. Maybe at this time untie them and let them try to escape. You know, give them hope to live but their ankles, knees, and hips and everything else destroy that hope because they can’t move- sorry have I been rambling?” He shyly looks down, like he’s embarrassed to be talking about such gruesome murdering techniques.

I shake my head and he doesn’t look reassured but I’m starstruck. I’ve never thought of anything like that. I think he’s the one.

“Continue please,” I gasp, so completely breathless.

“W-well, people are surprisingly resilient in the face of hope. Adrenaline can push them pretty far, even with their body mangled like that. Just as they’re going to reach the door, put some pressure on their ankles. Grab them by the ankles and drag the crushed bone back to where you started. At this point you could pour some chemicals down their throat, burning up their esophagus and turning their inside to mush. They should be dead, if they’re not then you pull out all their teeth and stomp their heads into the concrete.” The waitress looks horrified from our tableside, both of us unaware of her as we look at each other, captivated. 

She clears her throat and all I can think about is her throat burned up by bleach. 

“What would y’all like to drink?” She is obviously disgusted and doing a poor job of hiding it.

“Oh I want a Dr. Pepper and I’ll order the strawberry crepes,” I don’t look away from Jupiter. He says his order and doesn’t look away from me.

She scuttles off, leaving us alone again.

“How would you hide it?” Now is my time to shoot off questions.

“If you’re okay with getting messy, cut them up and feed them to coyotes or stray dogs. Make the meat look like it’s not human.” The answer is genius. He’s a genius. Our grandkids are going to be so cute.

“Could you light someone on fire if they had a high blood alcohol content level?” He looks at the ceiling and ponders. 

“I can give you an answer if you let me go home and research it,” Our little flow is broken as a new waitress places our food in front of us, leaving to fetch the drinks. We’re quiet until she drops them off and he waves her off when she asks if we need anything.

The conversation continues as such while we dine, talk of murder and killing filling our bubble. Soon my plate is cleaned and so is his, and our night is coming to an end. The waitress sets the bill in front of him and places his card in it before I can object. 

He hands me his phone with the contact app open, and I hand him mine in return. We exchange numbers and the waitress returns, placing the card and receipt. He pockets it before standing, motioning to leave. We step into the cold air and I shiver, covering my boobs so my nipples don’t peak through.  
He strips his hoodie and hands it to me, and I can see the scars running up and down his arms. I do my best not to stare and take it, slipping on the pleasant smelling warm garment. He points to his car and I point to the bus stop. If I leave soon I can catch the last bus. He looks as if he’s going to offer a ride, to which I shake my head. Though I’m sure he’s the one for me, I still don’t want him knowing my address so soon.

He walks to his car and waves at me, driving away while I sit at the bus stop. It’s warm now as I wait, the cologne on his hoodie wafting to my nose. My sniffing of his hoodie keeps me busy until the bus arrives and on the way home, stepping into my messy home with my face buried in the cloth. I step around some trash and a mewing Goliath to go straight to my room, plopping on the air mattress. 

Goliath jumps next to me as I kick off my shoes and unlatch my chains, scratching my pants while I grab a makeup wipe from my dresser slash cardboard box next to my bed. My phone buzzes and Jupiter's name pops up, this time an iMessage rather than a Tinder alert.

_Jupiter <3 (11:07pm)  
Yes you can light someone  
on fire if they’re drunk enough  
goodnight pennywise_

_(11:08pm) Victoria  
thanks for the update  
goodnight captain_

I drift into a comfortable sleep with that in my mind and Goliath in my arms.

 _Jupiter <3 (9:32am)  
Ah goodmorning_

I’m awoken by the text tone of Jupiter ringing in my ear and a yowling Goliath. My face heats up as I read it, embarrassed how this virtual stranger is messing with my head.

_(9:35am) Victoria  
Good mornin’ cap’n_

Slipping my phone in my pocket, I stand to brush my teeth again and rinse the pungent taste from my mouth. Goliath follows me as I leave the bathroom, crying for food at my feet. His bowl is full from the automatic feeder but with a quick shake it is suddenly edible again. He crunches on the brown pebbles loudly and the sound echoes to the dirty living room, following me as I step through Ground Zero. My computer starts up when I wiggle the mouse, fans whirring and sucking in air like they ran a marathon. I sit in my rickety chair and open the writers app, staring at the blinking text bar.

_The rain picks up, the wind whipping her hair into her cold face. His body is heavy with unconsciousness, the brutal raindrops washing away the evidence of her sins. Joylene lugs the large man to the van parked at the alleyway entrance, pulling open the back doors to toss the stranger in the trunk. She takes the chance to tie up his limbs and gag him, his mouth smelling of alcohol when she stuffs a rag in. The doors slam shut with a bang and she hops in the front, a sinister idea in her head._

_His blood is flammable._

_Driving back to the suburban house is always nerve wracking, the chances of being caught at their highest. She opens the underground garage with the click of a button, easing the machinery into its home. The well greased wheels of the garage roller track descend smoothly and quietly, blocking out the rain that threatened to flood in. Joylene pulls open the back to find the man dazed but conscious, observing his surroundings with awareness seeping into his body._

_“You’re gonna come with me easily right?” She asks, voice razor sharp and plastic-fake. Her eyes are hawk-focussed on the wiggling prey in front of her, the struggling man filling her bones with happiness. He nods quickly and complies as she places him onto a furniture dolly. The wheels of the dolly are silent as she manuvers him to the subterranean room connected to the garage._

_The LED lights are quiet above her head, stereotypical hum of the lights nonexistent. Only the sounds of water droplets hitting the floor and the whistle of her lips breaking the silence. She places him on a wall and locks the wheels, turning to grab a pack of beers from the fridge in the basement._

_“Okay, now,” there’s a pause, her footsteps growing closer to the victim. “I know you’re going to be a nice and good boy if I take off this gag to help you drink. If you’re a bad boy I can put a tube down your nose and force it through there. Got it?” He nods frantically, sweat and raindrops rolling down his fat body. She reaches for the gag and pulls it out, the man staying silent, though his jaw shakes in fear._

_The telltale crack of a bottle opener sounds and she lifts the beer to his mouth, tipping it in lightly. He suckles on it like a mother teet, swallowing every last drop of the bitter liquid. Joylenes face is relaxed, as if she’s giving a fussy baby their bottle. She sets the bottle down with a clink, replacing it with a full one. The crack sounds again and the process repeats._

_This process continues until the entire pack of beers is gone and he can’t keep his head up. The perspiration on his body keeps his clothes moist, impeding its ability to light. Joylene digs through his pocket to find a knife, opening it to cut the clothing off. His body is dingy and covered in hair, the creavases of his rolls pooling with sweat. She continues down his form and reaches his shorts. Her face spells disgust as she saws down the fabric, his shriveled member apparent as she finishes ripping off his bottoms._

_Joylene leaves his body to dry, picking up his torn clothes and tossing them in the trophy bucket. In the bucket are chunks of hair, wedding rings, shoes, and her favourite sitting on top, a treasure chest of teeth. His clothes are added to the pile and she goes about cleaning up while he dries._

_Eventually his body is dry and he’s starting to regain a form of consciousness outside of his drunkenness and obvious concussion. His blood is saturated with alcohol like he’s made out of kerosene._

The buzz of my phone startles me from the climax of the murder. 

**BREAKING: MAN FOUND CHARRED**  
_Today at 10:42 an unidentified man was found  
burnt outside of an abandoned house. The man is  
believed to be George Hymm, a local homeless  
who lives on that corner. Police are investigating  
the occurrence and all possible situations.  
George had a public history with drug and alcohol abuse,  
as well as involvements with controversial groups  
and cults. More at 12 on Channel 9._

I stare at the screen in shock, eyes wide with amazement. What are the chances of a man being found burned at the time I’m writing a scene about lighting a man on fire? My twitter feed is filled with #HomelessJustice, the media seeing it as an attack on the vulnerable homeless population. Hundreds of tweets are directed @OregonGovBrown, the governor of Oregon Kate Brown’s official twitter, calling for action to support those in the streets. 

Pushing my chair back from the computer, I take a breath. Almost 2 hours of writing a murder to find that the murder was a real thing and not something from a novel. It’s easy to forget that the world is terrifying outside of the books I write. My phone buzzes again, revealing a text from Jupiter.

_Jupiter <3 (10:56am)  
Whatcha doin’ tonight?_

_(10:57am) Victoria  
I got plans tonight but I’m free rn  
You thinkin’ food?_

_Jupiter <3 (11:00am)  
Sure am partner  
Mall food court? 12? :D_

_(11:01am) Victoria  
It’s like you read my mind  
See ya then_

My mother's voice is in my head, her arrogant tone and passive-aggressive words sounding like an alarm. 

‘“You’re gonna have to choose boys or girls Vic, you can’t keep changing.”’

The ground nubs of my back teeth speak volumes of the years of emotional abuse I endured from that woman. My jaw is clenched, the grinding of my molars sending sparks down my throat. That woman has no place in my life now and will not decide who I go on a date with.

My feet dance through the trash with practiced ease, scooting to my room to find a suitable outfit. Jeans and a shirt? No, that’s too suburban white mom. Sweats and a turtle neck? Nah, that’s too insecure. I settle on his black hoodie and some plaid pants that were originally pajamas. The clothes hang off my frame in a ‘I look good even in a hobo outfit’ kind of way. 

Goliath meows at my side while I shuffle through the landfill on my floor towards the only usable mirror. The light of the computer screen bathes my face in a harsh white-blue, distorting the colours of my makeup. Rather than a complicated look today I simply brush on some eyeliner and mascara, and dabble blush and highlight on my cheeks and nose. 

My shoes are sitting next to the air mattress from last night, all the way across the garbage jungle and in my room. With careful steps I retrieve the shoes and slip on last night's socks, forcing my heels into the shoes and bending the back. Sneakerheads would cry at my lack of proper shoe care.

Strung across my cardboard box bedside table is my backpack purse. The coins and other small things that I’ve ‘borrowed’ from stores jingle as it’s picked up. Soon enough, the front door closes behind me and I’m sitting at the bus stop again, the crackhead from yesterday still there. How easily could that man have been killed last night? He’s clearly intoxicated and is just as vulnerable as the next homeless person. 

My bus arrives with the ‘ssqshhh’ of the breaks and I hop on, swiping my bus card again. With my purse in my lap again, my thoughts drift for the several stops before the mall.

The bus inches to a stop in front of the mall, the doors opening with a slap as plastic hits plastic. I step off with a nod to the driver and look at my phone, reading the time. It’s 11:39. Good, I’m early again. Walking towards the entrance, my eyes divert to the tall man lounging in the chair. Why did Jupiter get here so early? 

He turns his body when I approach, as if he heard my footsteps. His face crinkles into a smile when he sees the hoodie and opens his arms for a hug. We embrace quickly and his chains clink as we part. 

“You’re wearing my hoodie!” His voice is alight with childish excitement. The ringed hands motion to my torso.

“Nah, I’m wearing the other boy named Jupiter's hoodie,” I chuckle and tease, looking towards his face for a reaction. His posture stiffens but he laughs it off, the fake smile obviously well practiced.

“I hope he’s as good looking as I am,” Jupiter says, looking around at the food court, “Lunch?”

I nod and he grabs my hand, the cool metal of his rings sending goosebumps up my arm. His hand engulfs mine, the rough callous on his palm grating against my skin. I didn’t know he played an instrument. 

“Do you play an instrument?” I asked, still looking for a good place to eat. 

“No, but the calluses are from my job,” he shakes his head and looks down at me when he responds. I can feel the hot breath on my scalp.

“What work gave you such intense callouses?” This time I look up at him to ask, meeting his gaze. He looks away like he’d been caught. Cuter than I thought. 

“Oh just some farm work. Believe it or not, my family used to live on a farm. Now I live on one and raise pigs,” Jupiters tone is quiet, as if he’s embarrassed to admit he’s actually a farm boy.

“I don’t mind it, just means you can pick me up and throw me pretty easily,” My gaze is forward and confident, hiding the pounding of my heart. A sharp exhale proves that it worked. 

“Oh yeah? Want me to pick you up and throw you? Like you’re nothing but my little toy?” His voice is smooth and drops an octave, the words reverberating throughout my body. Holy shit holy shit. Holy shit! Never in a million years did I expect that.

I’m stunned into a silence, which he just laughs at. He stops his stride and drops my hand, turning to face me. His large figure looms over mine, his hazel gaze finding my eyes. My chin is pulled up by his hand when I try to look away, forcing my eyes to his. The air around him is powerful and he’s completely in control, the effortless force applied indicates the commonality of this occurrence.

He leans down into my ear, mouth puffing warm breaths on the shell of it, “You want me to mess you up? Leave you unable to walk for weeks? Bet you’d like that, love it actually,” and as quick as it came it’s gone, the sound of the crowds rushing into my ears again. 

Jupiter picks my hand back up and we continue walking as if that didn’t just happen. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. Those words went so far deep into my soul my ancestors felt them. Where did that come from? Who knew this almost shy boy had it in him?

“So, did you see the news?” He says, stopping in a Panda Express line. He looks down at me and waits for an answer. 

“I- bu- da- ah- yeah I-I did. Why?” My brain is still short circuiting, the neurons scrambled and firing at the wrong times.

“I just thought it was weird that a man was set on fire the night we were discussing how to set someone on fire. You sure you got nothing to do with it?” His gaze intensifies as if he’s interrogating me. 

“H-huh? Are you asking me if I killed a man?” I’m dumbfounded at the question. My chest pulses with the rushing of my heart. We step forward in line as it continues. His posture immediately relaxes and he tosses his head back in a laugh. 

“Oh my god! I totally got you!” He snorts it out mid laugh and my heart slows its frantic beating. I slap his arm playfully and exhale, the tension leaving my posture too. That asshole.

“You fuckin’ dick! I thought you were accusing me of murder!” I whine and he laughs harder at my tone. The line moves again and we’re up to order. He places his order in between chuckles and I place mine, moving to pull out my wallet. He drops my hand and stops me from paying.

“I’m sorry, let me pay,” There isn’t a shred of remorse in his eyes but a free meal is always a win. I nod my head and pout as he pays, grabbing our prepared food and leading us to a free table.

We sit and he digs into the bag, handing me the food and retrieving his own. He breaks the chopsticks and rubs them together while I search for a fork. Once found we both dig in. With my mouth full of fake chinese food I start the conversation. 

“So how did you figure out that drunks can be lit on fire?” The speech is slurred with noodles. He finishes chewing before answering like a civilized person. 

“Just did some simple math and chemistry. Well actually I got super hammered when I went home and drew some blood to light on fire.” He lifts his hoodie sleeve to show me a small slice in his skin. Just another cut that will add to the museum of scars.

“Why would you do that? I didn’t need to know that bad! But now that I know you’re willing to do such things, how long does it take for human flesh to dissolve in acid?” My concern isn’t overwhelming, the cut on his arm crescent shaped like he just took a chunk out with a nail. 

“I will get back to you again on that one,” He says before picking up some noodles and chicken with his chopsticks. Our date continues as such, talking between bits of food and discussing theoretical murders. The sun is setting in the cafeteria and the Panda Express has been demolished between us. 

A loud alarm goes off on my phone, reminding me that it’s 4 o’ clock in the afternoon. He’s startled out of his sentence by the noise. 

“Oh fuck! I have something to do at home at 4:30!” Frantically shoving my stuff in my purse and the trash in the bag, I think of a way to get home on time. The bus is at least 30 minutes, not including rush hour traffic. I contemplate an Uber but I can’t afford the ride.

Jupiter grabs my hand and halts my movements. His eyes are concerned and his face is twisted with worry. 

“Do you need a ride?” He asks, genuine care invading his voice. Fuck. Fuck! Do I let him know my address or do I arrive late? I ponder quickly before nodding. He stands and helps me clean, grabbing my hand and walking fast towards the parking lot. My backpack purse is hanging from the opposite shoulder as he basically drags me towards the blue Mazda Miata in the 3rd row. 

He digs his keys from his pocket and clicks, a beep resonating through the lot and the headlights flashing. The drivers door opens when he pulls but my side remains locked. He reaches over the center console and stick shift to unlock it, pushing it open as he does so. The seatbelt clicks and tightens on his chest as I sit, outlining the hard chest under the hoodie. Now is not the time Victoria.

He puts it in gear the moment my seatbelt clicks and backs out smoothly, changing gears to surge forward. 

“Which way am I going?” Fuck, I have to direct him to my house. It’s the second date and I trust him well enough. I direct him at every turn, the Miata whizzing through traffic. His left hand grips the wheel with practiced ease, his right hand tight on the gear shift. The rings shine as he clenches and unclenches his hand. With each muscle movement the tendons in his fingers flex, captivating me with its power. 

The clock reads 4:15 when we arrive, the car jerking to a stop when we park. The seatbelt makes a sound when it unbuckles and I lurch forward for a kiss, closing my eyes and planting my lips firmly on his. They’re an average size and he’s in dire need of chapstick but he kisses back, moving his mouth with mine. We part after an exasperating 10 seconds with a pop. There’s colour in his cheeks and he looks away. 

“I’ll text you?” He says and I nod, opening the door and exiting the car. I wave as he backs out before sprinting up the metal stairs to my apartment, feet banging on the stairs grates. The doors opened easy as it wasn’t locked, Goliath waiting near it and jumping when it opened. Kicking off my shoes with a thunk, I bolt to the kitchen to grab trash bags and cleaning supplies, desperately throwing the piles of trash into each bag.

Shoving empty and full takeout boxes into the bags, I tear through the stacks of garbage that have been stewing on my floor. Carpet stain treatment goes on any stains and the raid kills any bugs that aren’t dead. In an adrenaline filled 10 minutes the floor has been cleared and the stains lightened. The carpet is crunchy but visible and that’s a win in my book. Each trash bag is at least 10 pounds and wet with sauce and half empty cans, dripping as I lug it down the stairs. 

They compress as they’re tossed in the dumpster, the toxic waste happy to have been cleaned as it had grown a conscience. I run back up my stairs, waking up the people in Australia as I do, and finish tidying anything left over. The clock reads 16:35 so I pull out of my phone and wait.

A few minutes later there are frantic knocks on my door. As soon as it’s opened there’s a child attached to my legs. Her bright orange hair braided and messy as she clings. In the doorway with a baby carrier is my brother, Wade, with a kind smile on his chubby face. I step back from the door and drag my niece on my leg with me to invite them in. Wade sets my nephew in his carrier down on the countertop and leans over my niece to give me a hug.

His overweight body wraps my own in a warm embrace, the distance having prevented us from seeing each other. He leans down to pull my niece Korra from my ankles. She whines and clings tighter but her father is stronger and wins the battle. I open my arms to take her and she’s passed over to me.

“Oh who’s my munchkin! How I’ve missed you pumpkin!” I exclaim, spinning her around as I say it. Her giggles fill the room and my soul, like a piece of me had been missing in her absence. She sticks to my hip easily when I prop her there to take a look at my nephew.

“Hi little Dionysus,” I whisper to his sleeping body, rocking the carrier as I do. Wade picks it up and goes to settle on the couch, plopping down next to Goliath. He mewls and prances over to inspect Dionysus, giving him a small sniff before settling down in the carrier next to him. Goliath always liked babies. 

I place Korra on the counter and hunt in the fridge for a water bottle. Once found I turn and toss it to Wade. He catches it and nods thankfully. Korra jumps easily on my hip once I’m done and I walk to join my family on the couch. She snuggles into my side when I sit, burying her face in my shoulder with a whine. 

“How was the flight?” I ask quietly, my nephew sleeping peacefully and a now drifting Korra. 

“Oh you know, baby and toddler on a plane as a single dad? Not easy. We’re all exhausted so it’s an early night for us.” That explains the soggy toddler clinging to me. 

“Did she wait up for me?” I ask while brushing the stray strands from her face, rocking my body gently to lull her to sleep. He nods in confirmation and leans his head back on the couch, a sigh racking his body.

We sit in silence for a few minutes enjoying the presence of family. With a gentle rock I check if Korra is asleep, finding her completely unconscious.

“Mom’s been really mad that I’m coming to see you. Korra couldn’t stop talking about how much she loves you and mom snapped at her. I mean I understand that she doesn’t like you but she has no reason to yell at my child for loving a family member, you know?” His voice is exhausted and he doesn’t lift his head to speak. 

“I know. I wanted to tell her I started dating a guy just to piss her off after I dated Roxie, show her that this whole sexuality thing isn’t a phase,” It’s tiring to not have a clear support system. God, I’ve missed my family. 

“You’re dating someone?” Of course, the dating piques his interest.

“Yeah, we went on our second date today. He’s a really complicated guy, ya know? He’s sweet and possessive, shy but bold, excited by murder like I am,” It’s nice to talk to someone other than Goliath once in a while. I didn’t realize just how much I wanted to talk about Jupiter.

“Sounds perfect for you. I won’t pry,” He says because of course he wants to respect my boundaries. My phone buzzes and speak of the devil.

_Jupiter <3 (5:29pm)  
Takes about 15 minutes to  
dissolve someone in hydrofluoric acid  
hope that helps_

_(5:30pm) Victoria  
Oh my god you did not dissolve  
any of yourself did you?_

_Jupiter <3 (5:32pm)  
Oh no, just an extra part from an old pig  
did you know that pigs and humans have  
very similar skin?_

_(5:33pm) Victoria  
No i did not  
Im w my brother ill text u  
In a lil_

Texting is olympic level difficult with a sleeping toddler on your arms. Wade gives me a mock flirty look and I lightly punch his arm.

“That him? You were smiling at your phone,” He says, making kissy noises and puckering his lips.

“Oh fuck off, was not. Wanna watch some TV?” Wade shoots me a concerned look as I deflect his question but agrees anyways. I turn on the TV and open Netflix, searching through movies before settling on Sharkboy and Lavagirl. He groans but doesn’t object. 

The hours roll by as we are surprisingly interested in the movie, my niece and nephew still sleeping peacefully. It’s almost 9 o’ clock now and my brother is looking sleepier by the minute.

“Where’s your hotel? I’ll drive your car there and taxi back,” He looks up from his creavase in the couch at my words, glancing at the clock on the oven.

“Oh fuck it’s this late? Yeah, if you could please. I’m not sure I can drive, the timezone is kicking my ass,” He groans and stands, cracking his back and rubbing his eyes. Bags under his eyes, slumped shoulders, sores on his stomach that flashed when he raised his arms.

“Wade- are you using again?” My voice is soft and concerned, flashbacks of 3 years ago playing in my head. He freezes and pulls his shirt down in shame. 

“I- it’s only a little, I’ve just been so stressed since… since..” His eyes start to water and his voice cracks.

“Since Freddy died?” I finish his sentence and he nods, wiping his eyes quickly and biting the inside of his cheek. Tears slip down his round face and Korra stirs at the mention of her other father's name.

“Papa? Why are you talking about Papa?” She yawns and rubs the nap crust out of her eyes, and I don’t have the heart to look at her. 

“No reason pumpkin, just go back to sleep,” I say and she lays her head back down on my shoulder. Wade's sobs are muffled through his sleeve, the wedding ring shining bright on his hand as he shakes. His shoulders rack with heaves that he desperately quiets. A few minutes pass and the tears have stopped. 

He lifts Goliath out of Dionysus’s carrier and picks it up, motioning for me to follow. I lift Korra gingerly and follow him out, closing the door softly behind me and treading lightly down the stairs. He points at the rental car and hands me the keys, unlocking the doors and strapping in my nephew's carrier while I secure Korra. Her heavy head slumps on the seat and I pull out my phone to take a picture.

Wade unlatches the door quietly and buckles himself in with a click. The drivers side door squeaks when it opens, startling both me and my brother. We check if the kids are still asleep and sigh in relief. Everyone’s still sleeping, thank god. 

I climb in as silently as possible and buckle my own seatbelt. The car starts with a purr and rumbles as we sit in the parking spot, the air conditioning whirring to life to heat the ice box. It changes tune when I put it in reverse, the quaking of the engine rolling through the car. Wade tells me the street his hotel is on and looks out the window for the rest of the ride, staring at the Oregon night scene. 

It’s a silent and quick ride, over sooner than I thought. We come to a stop in the overnight parking lot, the drum of the engine dying as I turn the keys. Wade opens his door and I open mine, moving to pick up Korra and take her to the hotel room. He grabs Dionysus and directs us towards their room, coming to a stop at the end of the first floor. The swipe of the key unlocks the door, the gritty sound of the lock flipping sounding out. He pushes the door open and lets me inside, closing the door behind me. 

I lay Korra on the toddler bed he requested and take off her clothing, changing her into some laid out pajamas. She doesn’t stir much, accepting the movement with ease. Pulling the blanket over her body, I kiss her head goodnight. The keys clink on the table when I set them down, waving goodbye to Wade when he motions for me to go. 

The door opens with a click and I hold the handle to pull it closed, looking back at the hotel door. God, how I missed my family. Words can’t describe the joy my niece brings me and the comfort my brother gives me. Longing, I set off for the front to go home. 

Shimmying my shoulders to dig in my purse, I find - I have no purse. Fuck, it’s sitting at home! How am I supposed to get home? All I have is my phone, no wallet or anything! With heavy reluctance, the phone rings out as I wait for an answer. 

“Oh, well this is a surprise! How’s your brother?” Jupiter’s voice sounds different over the phone.

“About that… I’m kind of stuck at his hotel because I drove his car back and forgot my purse so I can’t get an Uber. Do you think you could pick me up?” I say quickly, embarrassment running deep in my bones.

“Well, duh, sure. Gimme the location I’ll be there soon,” How does he say it so nicely? I give him the hotel address and hang up, waiting outside for the blue Miata. The air is freezing cold and the wind only adds to it, my breath visible in front of me. People arriving at the hotel shoot me weird looks for standing outside in the cold. 

15 minutes later the signature blue Miata rolls through, the man in the driver's seat waving at me. Opening the door is like opening a portal to hell in terms of smell. The scent is rotten and musky, pungent and flavourful on my tongue. My body forces out a gag before I can stop it.

“Jupiter, what the fuck died in your car?” I hack out between coughs, covering my nose in a futile attempt to stop the stench. 

He just laughs, “That would be the pig!” 

“That’s what a dead pig smells like?” It’s soul clenchingly revolting, the smell visible in the air and hot to the touch. He laughs again, nodding his head. He reaches into the glove box and the telltale sound of febreeze is evident. The bottle continues to spray until it smells like dead pig in hawai’i rather than just dead pig. 

He pats the seat and recuctantly I sit, my stomach still uneasy from the stink. He reaches over and buckles up for me, tracing his finger down my body as he does so. Normally the touching and restraining would be hot but instead it is just gut wrenching. Slapping the car door, I search for a window button and find a roller window. My attempt to roll it down is useless and not well enough worth it with the sick feeling in my stomach.

Jupiter reaches over and rolls it down for me before doing the same to his own. He steps on the break and puts the car in gear with a jerk, pulling out of the hotel spot. Somehow he’s found his way back to my home without my direction. Maybe he has a great memory, I don’t care to find out. With a rumble of my stomach, I sprint to my apartment and open the door with a slam, bolting to my bathroom. I kneel in front of the toilet and hold back my hair, puking up acid and burning my nose. 

My legs go numb from the time I’ve spent heaving and I feel a hand on my back. I jump away from it at the expense of my stomach and see Jupiter standing there. Instantly my body relaxes and I rest my forehead on the toilet seat.

“You left your front door open, just wanted to make sure you were okay,” He speaks softly as he rubs my back, the rings offering a cool reprieve from the heat of throwing up. His hands work magic on my back, rubbing in all the right spots and earning groans from the simple pleasure of a massage. The moment I release a moan he stops and carefully picks me up, placing me in a position that mirrors when I hold Korra, and takes me to my air mattress. He sets me down softly and walks away, coming back quickly with a cup of mouthwash and a cold rag. With his strong hand holding up my back for support, I swish the minty liquid and spit in the cup. The rag drags across my sweaty face and neck, like heaven on a cloth. 

Rather than thinking, I lift my arms to shed his hoodie, leaving me bare chested in front of him. Jupiter looks away and covers my breasts with the rag, taking the cup and rinsing it out in the bathroom sink. 

“I’m gonna get going, I’m sorry that the smell made you sick like this. I’ll make it up to you I promise,” His rough hand pushes the damp hair from my forehead and leaves a kiss in its place. The light clicks off and the front door closes with a dull thunk. Just going to close my eyes for a bit.

Light blazes through the blinds, streaming directly into my retina. The UV rays travelled over 93 million miles with the purpose of providing life on Earth, only to be disappointed when it reaches my eyes instead. Last night comes flooding back, the memories of the horrid stench and throwing up in front of Jupiter rushing into my mind. Oh my god, I threw up in front of him after he gave me a ride. Fuck, he probably thinks I’m rude. 

_Jupiter <3 (9:08am)  
How ya feelin’ mamas? _

_(11:49am) Victoria  
Fuck sorry I just woke up  
I’m doing much better thanks for  
taking care of me  
Mamas?_

_Jupiter <3 (11:51am)  
It’s alright I’m glad you’re feeling  
better  
sorry do you not like mamas?_

_(11:52am) Victoria  
No i really like it_

My body aches from the heaving of last night, groaning in protest as I sit up. Goliath is loyally by my side, soft snorts vibrating through the bed. Jupiters text tone sounds and there’s an audio message attached. Searching through my covers, I find the broken headphones and plug them in. 

**“Mama’s”**

Oh. My. Fuck. His voice is deep and he’s talking directly into the microphone, the audio message caressing my ears and blessing my brain. Alright God, I give up. You can take me now, I don’t need to hear anything else anymore. 

_Jupiter <3 (11:59am)  
Like that? ;)_

_(12:00pm) Victoria  
Absolutely. Perfect._

**URGENT NEWS**  
_Police officer Henry Digmans’ remains have been  
found in a barrel of an unidentified but highly  
corrosive acid. His wife reported him missing  
this morning and was found through the chip  
on his phone. Many suspect this was a retaliation  
killing for George Hymm, sparking disputes among  
citizens and police. More at 1 on Channel 9._

It happened again. Another killing like the one we had just discussed. Maybe I should look into clairvoyance? There’s a knock on my door, startling me from my stupor. Oh fuck it’s 12! Wade and the kids were coming over! I’m covered in sweat and smell like puke, last night's makeup smudged and crusty on my face. My chest is still exposed and the rag is sitting in a damp spot on the bed. 

I shimmy on Jupiters hoodie on the floor and jump to the door, opening to let everyone. Wade shoots me a concerned look while Korra grips my legs again, this time with infinite more energy. They all shuffle in, Dionysus awake in his carrier and observing the world. 

“Hey, I need to shower, I’ll be like maybe 20 minutes so please make yourself at home,” I say quickly while peeling Korra from my shins. She whines but releases her grip, going to sit back in her father's lap. He spreads out the baby mat and all the childcare stuff he brought and shoos me along for my shower. 

The simple process of showering is done quickly despite the trench foot that is inevitable with my drain. The water is a piss-yellow colour and reeks of vomit, forcing my stomach to churn again in recollection of last night. 

Stepping out of the shower I can feel vaguely what my nephew felt so little ago, the pleasure of what has to be akin to birth. My bright yellow towels don’t scratch in a way that bothers me much, the seafoam green of the tiles just slightly less disgusting today.

The extra clothes under the bathroom sink don’t smell too musty and aren’t too dirty for some reason, so I throw them on and step out of the bathroom with wet hair. My apartment isn’t too cold after this shower. 

Korra comes running over to me and I pick her up easily, the groaning muscles from earlier just magically gone. Slipping her shirt up, my mouth blows raspberries against her soft tummy. Her laughter fills the room again and sounds like glitter. 

“There’s my pumpkin!” I laugh with her and set her down, my heart beating fast. She grabs my hand and drags me along with what little strength her body has and takes me along to see Dionysus. He gurgles in his carrier and grabs the toys hanging down, little hands pawing at the jingling entertainment.

I pull out my phone and snap a picture, quickly sending it to Jupiter. It’s too early for kids or life since we’ve been dating a full 3 days but it never hurts for the future. 

Time passes quickly as Korra shows off Dionysus like he’s her own kid. There’s a knock on my door and everyone turns their attention to it. My body protests when I try to stand, my knees cracking in rebellion. Hobbling towards the door, I look out the smudged peephole. Jupiter… and his sister?

Upon opening the door, I receive an embarrassed wave from Jupiter. The little girl hides behind his shins, her round black eyes peeking through the bars of his legs. 

“I know, I’m uninvited, but Madeline hasn’t played with anyone her age in forever and I was wondering if we could join you?” He puts his hand behind his head and scratches awkwardly, eyes averted as he awaits an answer. 

Korra comes bounding up to investigate, gasping when she spots the hiding girl. She grabs Jupiters hand and pulls both him and Madeline inside with surprising force. I guess that settles it.

“If pumpkin says so, then I guess it has to happen,” Korra is grabbing for Madeline’s hand, attempting to grab the poor girl and drag her along to see Dionysus. Wade raises his hand to give a polite greeting to Jupiter before turning his attention to the now three underage kids under his supervision. 

“Auntie, bring him over here!” What Korra says goes, so I lead Jupiter to the baby mat to see Dionysus. His eyes light up and he’s enamoured by the big blue eyes staring up at him from the ground. Wade and Fred’s surrogate had good genes but those endless blues are 100 percent Freddies eyes. 

Jupiter is starstruck, the gaze of the baby focussed directly on his face. He stares with wonder at the colour of his irises. Dionysus is making his own opinions about Jupiter too. Time slows to a stop and the room is quiet save for Korra forcing Madeline to play. 

“Your baby is beautiful,” Jupiter says, directed at Wade, “Are you a single dad..?” He leaves the question open to an answer. He’s fitting right in with my family.

“My husband was killed a few months ago, so I’m a widowed father now.” Wade says it with no malcontent, just stating the fact that Freddie was murdered some time ago. Jupiter doesn’t pry anymore, just wiggles his finger in front of my nephews face. Dionysus watches, entranced by the digit. 

Time passes regularly after that, with Madeline slowly opening up to Korra and the adults talking over anything while Dionysus entertains himself. Hours fly by and soon it’s 5 o’ clock in the evening and Korra has tired herself out from play. Madeline plops into her brother's lap, snuggling comfortably into his body. He just wraps his arms around her and continues talking as if nothing happened. 

Korra stumbles into her dad's lap and fits herself into his arms. Wade readjusts only a little but also continues on as if nothing happened. Father figures sure are special.

“Hey, we’re gonna get going. Petunia here played a little too much,” Wade whispers, trying not to startle the toddler into waking back up. Jupiter nods in agreement and scoops up the sleepy Madeline, standing with a struggle as he attempts not to rustle her. My brother follows suit and places Korra on his hip, looking to me to put Dionysus back in his carrier.

My nephew is easy to wrangle into his seat, a rather angelic baby in my opinion. He goes along with whatever, just decides to observe every situation. He’s going to have his fathers’ intelligence. We migrate to the front door and to the parking lot, stairs clanging as we descend. Jupiter breaks off to the Miata and I follow Wade to the rental. He unlocks it and we place the kids in the car and close the door. 

“I’m sorry that we got interrupted, I didn’t invite him,” Wade just laughs and opens his arms up for a hug. His body is warm and soft and he smells like home. 

“It’s okay, I was gonna meet him eventually,” He says and I can feel his chest vibrate when he says it. His arms squeeze tight and the hug feels so right. Eventually his grip releases and he turns me around to see Jupiter leaning on the side of his Miata.

“Go get him, tiger,” His palms push against my back and it sends me in that direction. I wave my goodbyes as he gets in the car and backs out, driving away. The outside is cold with the Oregon autumn and his breath is visible as I approach.

“Hey, I’m really sorry for intruding, I just want Madeline to actually have someone to interact with,” He sounds genuinely sorry, like he killed my cat or insulted my mom. 

“Oh no, no, a warning would have just been nice. That was my brother and my niece and nephew, they’re leaving town tomorrow,” I reassure him and his body tension releases. 

“Thank god, I thought I messed something up. I really like you, ya know? I want you to be my girlfriend,” His voice drifts off at the end, trailing the sentence into silence. The hazel gaze that is normally so intense is skittish and nervous. 

“I- yeah. I’ll be your girlfriend,” My breath puffs white smoke as I chuckle my answer. This tall and scarred man is a softie with a special place for his sister. His short black hair is moving with the wind, carrying his cologne towards me. The environment around us celebrates with a strong gust of frigid air, blowing my ginger strands back. 

“I’m gonna go inside, I’ll see you soon?” He nods in agreement and places his large hands on my face, rings freezing to my burning skin. I push up on my tippy toes and pucker my lips, waiting for the return kiss. His warm lips meet mine and the need for chapstick has never been worse, but I know a reliable way to deliver the moisturising substance. It’s got a familiar name-- what was it..? Oh, me!

The kiss is over sooner than I prefer but the wind is kicking up and Madeline is sleeping in the car. A clap resonates and my right ass cheek stings. Oh my god, he just slapped my ass. Jupiter snickers when I turn around exasperated. He opens the door to the Miata and jumps in, starting it quickly and zooming off. I’m left standing in the parking lot with a tingly butt and a blush on my face. 

The exhaustion from my depleted social battery is sudden and hits like a drunken sailor. Gravity works against my body as I trudge back up my steps, opening the door to the warm air and Goliath. It’s only 5:30 but it feels like midnight, so I retreat to the solace of my room and forgo the writing my editor requires. My shoes thud from where they’re kicked off and the bed moves when I flop onto it. 

The light is off so I bury my face into my pillows and pass out.

There’s a heavy weight on my body and the crust shrouds my eyes. The blinds reveal the moonlight streaming through. Goliath is sleeping on my chest again. With a push of my hand I move to knock him off, only to find a much heavier and sturdier surface. Rubbing the sleep crusties out of my sight, I blink rapidly to clear the last of the blurriness. The bright moonbeams glare into my blue eyes, the light iris unreceptive to sudden light.

Jupiter is straddling my legs with his hands pushing against my chest. He places a hand on my mouth and shushes me, his form looming over mine. The muscles in my body seize, refusing to move. The vocal cords of my throat lock, betraying my want to scream.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” He whispers, his eyes soft and his face loving. The air is tanged with iron and the moonlight illuminates the liquid dripping from his arms. Drops are streaming onto my face and in my mouth, the metallic taste invading my senses. His hand moves from chest to my head, brushing the sleep worn hair from my face.

“I just felt so much guilt earlier, you know? Seeing your nephew was sure startling! His eyes were exactly like his fathers,” his tone is fond, like he’s recalling a pleasant memory. The hand in my hair reaches for his pocket, revealing an I.D. The face has scratches on it, destroying any remnants of the picture except for the eyes. His name was removed poorly and the remaining letters were enough. That was Freddies’ I.D. Those were his eyes. Those were my eyes.

“God, even your nephew's blood smells like his dads, such a familiar scent,” Another drop hits my skin and the realization does too. This is Dionysus’s blood. My body thrashes now, the horror of my discovery kicking me into action. Jupiter’s strength is superior and the crescent shaped scars on his arms make sense. Those were defensive wounds. 

The killing of George Hymm when I asked about burning, the torturing of Henry Digman when I asked about acid. He did that for me. Those murders are my fault. The strong arms pin me to my air mattress, proving just how futile any attempt at escape would be. He wasn’t lying when he said he could do whatever he wanted with me.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was going to win your love and tell you what I do. I thought you’d understand, I’ve read your books! But I saw your nephew's eyes and I couldn’t help myself. I’m sorry, you need to know I mean that. I’m sorry for him and I’m sorry for you,” He sounds like he believes his words- wait sorry for me?

His powerful hands are devoid of their rings as they wrap around my throat. I’m not sure if he’s going to choke me or break my neck first. His face is red and he’s crying, the tears dropping onto my skin. I can feel my eyes bulge from my skull at the pressure. The intense hazel gazes watches the blood vessels pop around my irises.

“The red really brings out the blue,” I don’t have the energy to claw anymore. I’m getting tired. I’ll see you soon, my beloved nephew.


End file.
